


All the names we will not know

by G0lden_trash



Series: AnOtHer One chatfic universe [2]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Angst, Childhood Trauma, Domestic Violence, I M S OR R Y, Implied/Referenced Domestic Violence, Nightmare, Past Childhood Trauma, Trauma, Violence, a n g s t, can we spell that again?, domestic abuse, yall I’m sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-26
Updated: 2018-10-26
Packaged: 2019-08-08 01:46:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16420094
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/G0lden_trash/pseuds/G0lden_trash
Summary: Before dawn, trembling in air down to the old river,circulating gently as a new seasondelicate still in its softness, rustling raimentof hopes never stitched tightly enough to any hour.I was almost, maybe, just about, going to do that.- Naomi Shihab Nye, all the names we will not know





	All the names we will not know

**Author's Note:**

> So this,, is something I have thought about writing for a while. I would love to hear what you guys think about this. It’s a connecting piece to lances backstory in my chatfic but it’s not necessary to read if this isn’t your thing!
> 
> I do warn you that it rather dark, heed the tags, so read with caution if this is something that could potentially trigger you. Stay safe lovelies. 
> 
> Hope you enjoy! And thank you for reading. 
> 
> Feedback is greatly appreciated!!!

It was dark, then again, it always was. Darkness had a certain comfort, in a sense he wasn’t really there, not eksisting in the moment. There were no monsters here, no. The real monsters didn’t live in the dark. He had learned from a young age that real monsters were people. A lesson he never would forget. 

 

Suffocating tare filled his lungs and clouded his senses, it started. He could only scream as he was dragged under. Darkness like this wasn’t comforting, this is where the monsters lived. 

 

But It was dark, until it wasn’t. Light filing his visor, smells and sounds reaching his ears. He was home. The old home. Nostalgia clouding his mind as he looked at his old room, the little trinkets littered around. The posters on the wall. Morning sun was fluttering through the blinds, lighting up dust specs and creating rays. The world colorless and cold, even as he stood in his childhood home. Dread filling his little body. 

 

Knowing what was coming, because it always did, this is what always happened. Lance walked downstairs. Little socked feet making little to no noise, quite was good. There was no humming, no music in the kitchen, only the sizzling of food cooking on the stove. He was sitting at the table and his mama was standing by the stove, as lance made his way downstairs. He knew what was coming, it always happened. 

 

Lances mama dropped a dish and  _ he _ rose from his position at the table, towering over her. It was coming. A terrifying silence filled the little kitchen as his ma starred the monster down, not yet cowered. But it was coming. He was tasing his hand, preparing to strike. so Lance did what he always did, he ran the last steps and started towards her, screaming and shouting, anything to get him to stop. He didn’t, he never did and he wouldn’t. Never.

 

He struck at lance, slicing through him like nothing. Like his son was nothing.

 

And It hit lance like a storm, knocking out his breath and scewing his vision as he remained airborne for a second. He hit the wall, hard. And a sickening crack sounded out in room and echoed of the wall where he rested. His little chest rattled and breathing off, vision swimming. Lance could see him approaching, the chain in his hand, mouth gaping and black with soulless eyes. It was getting dark again, his ma was resting on the ground, she wasn’t moving anymore. 

 

He didn’t have a name in this dream, or any dream, lance couldn’t say it, couldn’t think about it, wouldn’t. 

 

He raised his hand, making to strike, the razor chain coming down in slow motion as time stilled. Lance would forever remember this. His own distorted version of what happened that day, those weeks, the months his family suffered at the hands of  _ him.  _ The memories forever etched into his mind, burning. Always waiting. 

 

And so he braced for it, tensing. But the strike never came. And he realised he was in his room, screaming, it wasn’t dark anymore,  _ he wasn’t there _ .

 

A sob left his throat as he crashed into his mamas arms, arms that had carried him through this countless times. Always waiting.

 

Lance was 12 years old again, crying himself to sleep with his mother singing him comforting songs as he crumbled and broke apart. Her eyes were glassy as she too remembered The way her baby had sacrificed himself for her. 

 

And so they cried together, becoming a little more whole for it, they would continue to do so, until the monsters didn’t lurk in the corners and until he wasn’t scared and when Lance could sleep again without worrying about his mama and when his mama would stop feeling the bone crushing guilt because she almost lost her baby. 

 

In the end it was light, a faint glow emitting from the window on the second floor, as the stars in the ceiling glowed and the fairy lights chiming in. Two shapes laying on the bed, holding each other tight and peacefully asleep for now. The storm raging outside, in the distance, they were safe for now


End file.
